


Gripping Him Tight and Raising Him From Perdition

by rhodrymavelyne



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-24
Updated: 2015-08-24
Packaged: 2018-04-17 02:13:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4648335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rhodrymavelyne/pseuds/rhodrymavelyne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel's rescue of Dean from Hell and Alistair, from Castiel's perspective.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gripping Him Tight and Raising Him From Perdition

**Author's Note:**

> This is a Hell more from the perspective of the non-corporeal; souls and angels than from the perspective of a living person, entering Hell. Or an attempt to describe such a perspective. This story presumes Castiel had been watching Dean for a long time, before this rescue. The title 'Gripping Him Tight and Raising Him From Perdition' are taken from words Castiel uses himself on 'Supernatural', during the fourth and sixth season. 'Supernatural' doesn't belong to me. I'm just a fan, who enjoys speculating about the characters. :)

Through layers of flesh, screams, and smoking pain, the angels came. Like swords of light, they slashed and burned their way through the Pit. Every slash destroyed a soul. The thought was enough to make Castiel, Angel of the Lord, wince, as if he were a human himself. 

He couldn't wince, or hesitate, now. He had a mission, an order, and a mandate to save a certain soul. He could sense that soul now, its unique blend of loyalty, bravery, and stubbornness. The faintest flicker of Dean Winchester gleamed, even through the thousands of souls in the pit. Castiel would know him anywhere. The angel had been snatching glimpses of this particular soul too many times to count. He'd watched, as a living Dean Winchester grew up, waging his father's doomed battle against the supernatural. Dean had continued that battle to the very end, with a constant smile and a sarcastic remark on his lips. His last living hour, Dean had spent singing, even as he went to face Lillith. Knowing he was damned, he'd smiled and sang. There was a brightness about Dean Winchester, which mingled with his being in the afterlife. Even as he dimmed, Dean Winchester flickered bravely on. Castiel just had to follow that flicker.

Flying through darkness, slashing through screams, Castiel chased the flicker, seeing traces of its shadow on ruined souls. The angel would have to hurry, unless it was already too late. Too late, too late, the thought mocked him, as the light grew brighter, even as it dimmed. It drew Castiel to it, pulling the angel in. There was no point in resisting the pull. He had to find Dean, or what was left of him. 

It wasn't too late. The light of Dean's soul was almost like a bird, fluttering helplessly, as if in a cage. What trapped it was far worse. Alistair's claw. Razor like, it tightened around the brightness, making the fragile human soul bleed. The blood ran down the demon's talons, as Alistair faced the angels. 

For Castiel was not alone. His brothers and sisters had followed, tearing through Hell in his wake. Trusting his judgement. Castiel was their leader. He would succeed. He would reach their goal in time.

"It's too late," Alistair hissed with a tongue of smoky knives. It bled with the pain of the demon's victims, dripping into in the pit. Every drop of blood screamed with a human voice. Castiel could hear Dean's scream, distinct from the others. Anger and sadistic release darkened his cry. "He is mine," Alistair said with a sharp toothed smile, as he tilted his enormous head to listen to the screams. 

He enjoys the sound of them, Castiel thought. This was no surprise for a demon, that he would savor different nuances of pain, but Alistair seemed to take a special pleasure in the dark notes within Dean's scream. 

"He chose to spill the blood of the damned of his own free will," Alistair said. There was almost a note of pride in Alistair's voice, as he studied the soul in his claw.

Anger, an almost possessive rage stirred up in Castiel. He could feel his light, burning brighter and hotter at the sight of Dean Winchester in Alistair's grip. The damned and the demonic cowered away from his light. Even his own angels seemed uneasy. As for Alistair, his form began to smoke, as if he couldn't hold it in the face of Castiel's light. 

"You cannot have Dean Winchester." Castle's True Voice boomed and burned, destroying this small piece of Hell. Alistair was smoking in earnest, his claw losing its form. "Heaven has plans for him. He is part of Destiny."

"Destiny can be changed!" snarled Alistair, but he was unable to stay solid in the face of Castiel's wrath. Reduced to smoke, he was no longer solid enough to hold onto Dean's soul. Its light fell, dropping into the pit. 

Castiel flew after it. The angel caught the small, pulsing soul, cradling it against his breast. Dean Winchester felt soft, yet prickly with an intense, human individuality, even though he was wounded. The strangest, almost tender feeling came over Castiel, as the angel held Dean. He willed his own fierce light into hiding from the fragile soul, as he flew upwards, out of the pit, towards the greater light. 

"Don't be afraid, Dean," the angel half spoke, half sang to the soul in his arms. His brothers and sisters were flying with him, taking the paths they'd burned through Hell. "I'm taking you home."


End file.
